


Roses With Thorns

by Asreoniplier (AsreonInfusion)



Category: Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Marking, Mild Blood, Mild Painplay, Ownership, Scarification
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 12:40:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19791082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsreonInfusion/pseuds/Asreoniplier
Summary: “Have you ever had a rose etched into your skin?” Dark asks.





	Roses With Thorns

**Author's Note:**

> We were talking about knifeplay kinks and scarification on Dark's (Tumblr @darkipli3r//Instagram @darkiplier) discord server, and then he just comes in and drops _that_ line. So I had to write a little thing for it.

Dark smiles, and your breath catches in your throat.

It doesn’t reach his eyes; it never does. His gaze is cold. Distant. That doesn’t bother you – after all, he will always be above you, and you will always serve him, and the distance between your stations is only the natural order of things. And that is not to say he doesn’t show fondness, in his own way. Kindness, even, when it suits him.

As long as you obey him and respect him.

He stands and walks to the front of his desk, every step so deliberate. He always seems to possess such a supernatural grace, a power and confidence that is utterly break-taking.

Dark tilts his head as he looks at you, hands at ease behind his back. The quiet intensity of it makes a shiver run down your spine; he can pin you as surely as a butterfly with his eyes alone. Yet there’s a serenity in it too. Distant though it may be, his smile is pleased. Smug, satisfied. You’ve done nothing to displease him, not this time. You’re not afraid.

He rewards those who are loyal, and has shown you generosity far beyond what you deserve.

“Have you ever had a rose etched into your skin?” Dark asks. Slowly, casually, the deep, reverberating rumble of his voice washing over you like an ocean wave.

The question itself is more or less rhetorical. Of course you haven’t. He knows you, he _owns_ you. Only he has the right to mark you.

“No, sir,” you answer regardless. Your chest tightens, heart fluttering at the thought of what he may be offering. “But I would like that very much.”

It’s not necessary. Your soul belongs to him, he has you wrapped around his fingers. You don’t need any sort of marking to prove that.

But, _oh_ , god, you love the idea of one.

Dark steps forward and grips your jaw, tilting your face up to scrutinise you. “Do you think you have earned it?”

“No. I can’t possibly do enough to worship you like you deserve.” You pause. “But I would be so grateful for it.”

He chuckles. “Acceptable answer. In that case…”

Dark slides his jacket from his shoulders, folding it neatly and draping it over the edge of his desk. He rolls his sleeves to the elbows, straightens his tie, and then finally returned his attention to you. You wait with bated breath the whole time.

“Face the wall and kneel for me.”

You do so without hesitation.

“Remove your blouse.”

That command does get a pause, merely a split-second, then you begin to undo the buttons. Anticipation makes your fingers tremble.

You start slightly at Dark’s touch. He rests his hands on your shoulders, hooking his fingers into fabric and aiding you in taking off your top.

“So delightfully obedient,” he comments. “You _are_ quite the pleasure to deal with after the rest of the incessantly unruly rabble.”

You make no reply to that. You can feel the cold caress, the soft static of Dark’s aura against your skin as he grazes his fingers down your bared spine, and you don’t trust yourself to speak.

It’s—you tense. It’s a sensation you’re familiar with, and yet something about it seems different. It’s usually so intangible, and echo of something palpable but not physical in any way. This time it feels much more—concentrated. Shifting from a gentle static to pins and needles, perhaps. From soft to sharp.

Sharp. That’s it. The sensation of his aura focuses to a sharp point, pressing between your shoulder blades like the tip of a knife, and you didn’t even know he could do that.

He drags a smooth, curved line over you – _into_ you – and a quiet whimper bursts from your lips. From surprise, mostly; you can feel the skin split in the wake of it, and you weren’t expecting that so soon. Blood wells up from the gash Dark’s left, trickling down your spine until he wipes it clean with his thumb. He hums softly in pleasure at the sight.

“You may brace your arms against the wall if you wish to, darling.”

You nod silently. That’s probably a good idea. You lean forward, bracing your arms as Dark suggested and resting your forehead against your wrists. You take a deep breath to steady yourself, then relax.

His aura cuts into you again. Again, again, again.

He’s slow, methodical, focused. You can feel the shape of it forming in the lines he carves. Etching a rose into your skin, just like he promised.

And it _hurts_. Not unbearably; the pain isn’t so much worse than having sharp fingernails dug into you, and your back is thankfully not such a sensitive area for this kind of marking. But it’s constant, unrelenting. You don’t have the space to breathe or recover, and it makes your head spin, feeling overheated and a little dizzy.

Yet to be marked by him at all – and so directly and so intimately as with his own aura – is an honour beyond compare, and you would bear it all and more to have the proof of his ownership.

Such an awful bliss, and you adore it.

“Dark…” you murmur.

“What a pretty little rose you make,” he says, sounding so very pleased with his creation. The carving, or what he’s made of you yourself, you’re not sure.

He wipes the blood away, leaving the red, raw wounds of a rose etched deep into your skin across your back. It’s a little sore, but you bite your lip and stay still and quiet as he cleans the marking for you.

“There.”

“Thank you, sir,” you say. Your voice comes out shaky – you still need a moment to breathe and regather yourself, trembling a little in the aftermath of the intensity – but you mean it with the utmost sincerity.

“I hope you understand the honour you’re been granted.” His voice his deep and smooth, almost hypnotic. “I would not carve such a… personal marking into just anyone.”

You do understand, and it makes your heart feel like it could overflow.

“I know.”

Dark traces his fingers down your spine, then he stands while you remain knelt at his feet with your back stinging and breathing uneven.

“You belong to me.”

You bow your head, hiding a smile born of joy and surrender. “Yes, sir.”


End file.
